Sleeping Alone
by KarotsaMused
Summary: Gojyo can't sleep with the sofa bed creaking in his den (E&A) (rated for language)


A/N: Disclaimer: Saiyuki isna mine.  
  
Welcome, welcome, to quite a few years after E&A ends. It -is- in the E&A'verse, so don't feel bad if you aren't sure what's going on. Read Eights and Aces ^.^ There are quite a few references to E&A (Gojyo got up the guts to talk to Reno, for example) and its accompanying one-shots (Chocolate Ears is a big player in Gojyo's perspective on Sanzo and Goku) Also, this is in the same style as chapter 11 of E&A - Gojyo -is- a bit scatterbrained, but that's how all our thought patterns run. Really ^.^  
  
Warnings: This fic is a mite more vulgar than what you might be used to. It's from Gojyo's point of view, and he (as well as Gonou/Hakkai) has had much time to age and change, even though he won't come out and say that because he doesn't believe it. If casual references to sex offend you, you might want to go elsewhere. But hopefully you guys all trust me enough to believe me when I say the ending is worth it. I like the ending ^.^ Um, other than that, I'm working on Kougaiji's fic - it should be up in a few days, methinks. And as to your requests for more 393 type fics...I'll think about it. They're a hard pairing to write but I do love them so!   
  
Um, well, that was a long set of authors' notes. But I'm feeling talkative this morning. Hee, I wrote a lot very late last night and got around to editing today over mah Cheerios. Hope you enjoy it ^.^  
  
***  
  
It's strange, sleeping alone. The bed is so big, so cold, so Goddamn' empty. I'm a warmth-whore. It's become so that I can't sleep unless I'm exhausted and sprawled over somebody. It's a good way to sleep, but not to wake up. Happened with Reno, from San Francisco. She's such a freak. Tired me out so bad she woke up first, and then I was stuck. Stuck for...how long? Three weeks, with Reno of the rhinestone belly ring and the fantastic tits and the bright green eyes. I've got a thing for green eyes.  
  
I roll over and look at the clock. 4 AM. Three weeks with Reno. She won't talk to me anymore. Not since she found me with her brother and what's-her-name. Brunette with blonde hair up top, that girl. His name was Dallas, Reno's brother. His hair was softer and he gave a better blowjob. Wasn't afraid to use his hands or moan. Made up for the dumbshit name. He had green eyes, too. Yelled at me when I lit up in bed, even after I let him fuck me up the ass. Okay, so it was my idea the first time. Reno didn't mind it when I smoked. Dallas. What a dumbshit name.   
  
He got his legally changed. Hakkai. Sounds better. Blondie didn't say why the change when he gave me the news a few months ago. Some people just get haircuts. I did. Casino had me chop off the hair once, just once. I didn't like it and neither did they because I gave them hell.  
  
I hate sleeping alone. Well, I can't really call it 'sleeping' alone. I got used to 'sleeping' around. And there were a few I called by the wrong name, so I learned to use "baby" all the time. You'd be surprised at how long it took me to get used to being on top. Oh, it's easy flirting, but control is strange. I'd never really had it before, afraid of not getting paid if I let go enough to leave a mark. Working a mess of sex-hair into something manageable had become a ritual every morning. Without it, I was getting vertigo. It was even weirder getting it up the ass and liking it. I was always too altruistic for my own good before that time. Dallas. What a dumbshit name. I miss him sometimes. But he was the last guy I saw. The girls at work all hate me now, but they still look over or walk by when I take a break to smoke. Everybody at my Goddamn' Blackjack table is allowed to smoke but me, 'cause it's not professional. I figured it wasn't worth fighting for, because they might make me cut my hair again if I raise another stink.   
  
They don't let you smoke in airports either. I hate airports. It's never about people coming home. It's always about them leaving. I had a brother. I think I have a brother, but he got on a plane. It's never about people coming home. So I didn't even go then, to say goodbye.  
  
How long ago was that? Four years? Five? Six? I don't care. It's been a long time. I apologized for it later, but I can't do airports. I went with the kid to pick them up, though. Hakkai and Candy and Sanzo.  
  
He's a teacher. He went to college so far away to become a teacher and he graduated. The only people who came to it were Candy and Sanzo. His family is Candy and Sanzo. And now me. I went with the kid to pick them up out front, watching the planes take off and land, wondering which one was theirs but not showing it, smoking outside the car and letting the kid sit inside because he hates the smell of it. Which I don't get, 'cause he loves Sanzo so Goddamn' much. Now that Blondie doesn't have to bat his eyes to bum a pack, he's become a chimney. The kid saw 'em first, getting out and waving his arms and running to help with the bags.  
  
He looks so different. He's grown into himself, and his glasses fit him, and his eyes are beautiful but wise and wonderful like learning makes a man. He's finally -lived- somehow other than overworking himself and worrying about money or Kanan. Funny how I remember her name but I don't know half of the names of the girls I've fucked. Boys neither. It still brings a smile to imagine him at some kegger in a frat house, though. I refuse to believe it. He'd probably drink them all under the table.  
  
He looked so different that moment, twenty-something and all tan slacks and tucked-in shirt and perfect posture despite plane-weariness. His smiles came easy, but the laughter was something to work for. He was happy to see me, or at least he said so, and I accepted his handshake a little slower than I should have.  
  
I can still remember what we said to each other. "How's school been, sensei?"  
  
He smiled at me and replied, "Not yet, Gojyo. Let's talk about something different."  
  
"Okay." There was a gut-wrenching moment of searching for middle ground. Talking with Gonou was so easy, but this Hakkai was someone new. "So. You sold the house to supplement the scholarship and everything. Which means..."  
  
"I suppose I must impose upon Sanzo until I figure something else out. They've been taking care of Hakuryuu for long enough, at least." He shrugged like it was no big thing. There was something different to him I couldn't put my finger on. I still can't. He's grown so much and I haven't changed at all.  
  
I tried to joke then, and said what might have been the most idiotic words in my entire life. "Well, we could always use another dealer. Live with me." I was utterly, completely, one-hundred percent three-fourths kidding. He was supposed to know that, the stupid fuck.   
  
But this Hakkai who I don't know smiled and said, "I'd like that." And that was it. I'd like that, and nothing more. My entire world was turned upside-down then.  
  
For the past three months, I haven't gotten laid. It's frustrating. But I can't bring myself not to be asleep when he looks in before he leaves for work. Student-teaching at his old high school, working in the science department. The kids love him because he knows their point of view. Already he's getting love-notes from anonymous teenage girls who dot their 'i's with little hearts. He shows them to me sometimes, and we both laugh. It's good to laugh with him.  
  
Reno asked me what the hell my problem was a few days ago. Why I hadn't been hanging out where everybody else was after work, getting drunk off my ass in the hours of early morning. Why I hadn't been spotted buying condoms, which became more of a communal thing than taking a piss in an open urinal. The casino's got more types of condoms than a drug store, and we all go for discounts. We're encouraged. It was funny the first few times, grinning at other guys and passing them smaller sizes in jest. Some of them go for show, every few days. Like they've actually blown through a whole box already. Condom-hoarders. Couple of Halloweens back, one of those guys made balloon animals. They were all worms, and it was fucking funny so we all took one home.  
  
I haven't gotten laid in three Goddamn' months. I know he knows when I stay out, and I can't anymore. It's stupid, but I can't. I've still got to reassure him, somewhere down deep in me I've got to. So I sleep alone, but it's not getting any easier.  
  
I hear the springs of the sofa bed creak outside my door. I leave it open and I can hear every move he makes out there. He doesn't shift much, so quiet it's like he dies every time he goes to sleep. He's so quiet. Before I knew it, the place was cleaner. There was food in the fridge. Garbage cans mysteriously emptied. There's a filing cabinet in my den I'm sure I didn't buy. The coffee table's become a desk, and our shoes are lined up under our coats like soldiers. The little changes were slow, minute, so I didn't notice them until all of them came up to smack me in the face. It's different around here.  
  
He says he doesn't mind the sofa bed. Doesn't mind that I'm never home. He always leaves food in the microwave for me, and I take it into the bedroom to eat so I don't disturb his sleep. When I wake up, the dishes are clean and put away. We only see each other on Sundays. And Saturday evenings when he waits up for me.  
  
Tomorrow is Sunday. It's fuckin' Sunday now. He didn't wait up last night. I stare into the red numbers of the clock, watching as they blur before my eyes. 4:53. I got home, brought the food in here, and ate it while stepping out of my uniform and hanging it up. I won't make him pick up my clothes, and I won't let him chide me about wrinkles. He's such a good cook. I reach over to the plate and swipe up a little salad dressing, popping my finger into my mouth and staring at the ceiling. There's no dressing in the fridge. He made it himself. It's all oil and spices like orgasm on spinach. The whole apartment smells like it. He's a fucking fantastic cook.  
  
And so I laid me down to sleep. Alone. Alone doesn't work. I've actually been -working- to get to sleep. Working hard. Walking hard to get home. I make him use his car. And I hate taxi drivers at night. They've been working sometimes longer than I have, and I don't trust dark cars with people I don't know. Walking's good for a body. And I can take anybody who jumps at me. There's a knife I keep in my pocket, a utility knife that's fine to have at work, sharp as anything. I haven't killed anyone yet, but I've cut off a few fingers.  
  
There was this one Saturday where he waited up for me. And I'd almost been mugged. He fawned over me like I'd been broken, insisting that he help clean out the gouge I got on my face. There was one point during that evening I started to smile like an idiot, because I realized what he was doing. There was once a seventeen-year-old boy attacked by a freak from hell. And his best friend's aunt's fucktoy helped him clean up. And screwed up the rest of his life.  
  
I remember the funeral, and the days after. I haven't thought of those in a while. Not since he left, not since he got back. But now, after three months and God-knows-how-many years. I'll have to ask him how old he is again. How strange it was to be needed, but good. And he held no false pretense about it, so I didn't lie to him. I was there to hold, and he was there to be held. I didn't need to understand, just to care. The worst night was when he made the decision to let her go. To not keep the ashes because he had nowhere to put them. The last thread was snapped, and he was really separated from Kanan, and he held on to me for dear life. I almost lost my job I spent so many days with him.  
  
My finger's wrinkled it's been in my mouth so long. There's a low, soft sound I don't realize comes from me until a few seconds later. I'll have to ask him how old he is. Older than eighteen. Older than twenty-one. Older than old enough.  
  
I've got a thing for green eyes. He's my thing for green eyes. I want him so hard, always have. He's got a fantastic mouth and a sweet little body and an acerbic wit he tries hard not to show. And he's smart. "Utterly fuckable" has just recently entered into the equation. When did he learn to hold himself? Was it Gonou or Hakkai? He moves like everything deserves grace, like he could never trip, like he's fluid. There is utter control over every part, and he commands the background he blends into whenever he wants. He's become a man, so much more so than he was, and it's driving me crazy.  
  
I'm as I always was, but this Hakkai is new. I had to get used to him, had to get used to sharing a bathroom and a kitchen and a keyhole. I locked him out using the chain once. He just kind of smiled and told me it was okay, and that was almost worse than anger. I'm glad I didn't keep him waiting too long.  
  
Three months. That's maybe twelve Sundays. Twelve days I've known him. After three months and God-knows-how-many years. He's a teacher. He's always bent over his work on those Sundays, so I'm going on errands because it'd kill me to disturb him. There's just a look he gives sometimes. Grading papers, checking off homework, making judgmental red marks and filling in grades with light pencil strokes. There's a giant book with green-and-white pages with a colored line for each student. There's got to be a hundred names, and he's only teaching three classes. He's already got them memorized, knows their handwriting when they forget to put their names down. Knows which ones will never put their names down and which ones will never turn anything in. I wonder if he plays favorites.  
  
No, not him. He cares too much. About everybody but himself. I'm supposed to be looking out for him, but I'm never around. He makes me feel responsible for him, maybe just because I'm older and I've never cared for anything before. Not even myself, most days.  
  
There is a soft whimpering sound. Stupid people upstairs have a dog, I can't believe the landlord lets them keep it. The bed outside creaks again and I sit up, wondering if it really is the dog. He almost killed that pug of his, right around the funeral. Staying at Candy's so long. It was the kid that finally remembered Hakuryuu hadn't been fed. So Gonou and Goku rushed over to the house and brought the dog back with them. He stayed in the backyard and is still there, so far as I know.  
  
No, not the dog. Not at all. He reminds me of the seventeen-year-old boy I knew so long ago. Tossing and turning, sweat-matted and letting out soft little cries. A nightmare. I've never seen him in the throes of one before, not all those nights I slept with my arms around his back. I slide onto the sofa bed with him, propping myself on the cushions and pulling his shoulders into my lap.  
  
"Gonou," I murmur, forgetting to use his new name. He looks like Gonou now, looks so young. I say the name again, not bothering to amend my error, and squeeze his shoulders. His eyes slowly come open and he gasps. It's the intake of air startled lungs need to go from sleep-tempo to speech. He blinks stupidly at me, not recognizing me at all.  
  
"Hey, you're okay. I thought the bed was gonna break," I say softly, letting him go. He stays in my lap, not pushing himself up, staring unseeing up at me. But he knows my voice.  
  
"Sorry. It was...so wrong. I was in her place." I know who she is, why my ribs are constricting around my lungs. I brush his hair from his forehead.  
  
"Hell of a dream," I mutter, letting my hand rest in his hair. He doesn't shake it away. We sit like that for a while, my hand on his head and his head in my lap and his breathing returning to normal. He's in his undershirt and it's translucent with sweat. I never knew how brown he was.  
  
"Mm. Just a dream." He leans his face away from me, asking, "Did I wake you?"  
  
I start moving my hand, running it through his hair. "No. I couldn't sleep."  
  
He blindly reaches his arm back and tries to catch at the fabric of a shirt I'm not wearing. It's a warm night, so his hand scrapes over my skin. He lets it rest open-palmed over my heart. "What time is it?"  
  
I don't even have to look at the clock. The sky outside is still dark as a city could ever get and we won't know the sun's up 'till it's over the buildings in the way. But you get a sense about these things after a while, coming home so late your eyes can't focus on the clock anymore. "Quarter to dawn."  
  
He frowns. "You haven't slept all night, Gojyo. Is something wrong?" He turns again toward me, eyes half-lidded because of my hand in his hair. I know it's a pleasure center for just about any sapient being, and my best comforting gesture rests in a scalp massage. He looks like he's about to drop off, but he still asks about me.  
  
His hand is warm and soft and his head is in my lap. I'm just fine. "No. Just couldn't sleep." His fingers curl and he sits up.  
  
Somehow, without his glasses, he focuses on my face and smiles. "Sleep with me. We've got nothing to do tomorrow that can't be put off. Let's sleep in." He pushes on my shoulder and I wriggle down beside him, not even pulling him close. He presses against me despite the heat of summer's last-ditch assault on fall. I can feel him breathing against my shoulder. Multiplication tables. One times one is one. Two times two is four. Three times three is nine. Four times four is...I swear I'm going to fuck everything up, this nice little system of ours, and I'll go back to paying full rent and cooking for myself and hating every Sunday where I've got nothing to do but make condom balloon animals. I'll scare him off because I'm too raw for him, always have been. I've always put him on edge about that, except for the times he needs me. But I -want- him.  
  
His voice comes out of the darkness, warm on my shoulder. "Does it bother you? That we do this but we're platonic, I mean." Damn him. Damn him and his warm body and his strong hands and his soft lips and his intelligence. Damn him and his balls to be able to say that sort of thing when I'm trying to be careful for him. I joke a little.  
  
"Hey, now, I've been sleeping with you since before you were legal, kid." He chuckles, moving so his forehead touches me.   
  
"So you have. I'm asking if you've got a problem with it." I can feel his hand on my side. It's hot. "You haven't been sleeping well since I moved in. You've always got red around your eyes." His words are slurring, tired and hoarse. Mine too.  
  
"I work late," I murmur. "And I doze until ten or eleven. I get sleep." I want sleep. So warm, so soft right here. I want sleep so I don't have to think about you. I can shake off stupid things I say as parts of inconsequential dreams. I want sleep so I don't have to feel you.  
  
His hand runs from ribs to hip and I jump at the movement. "Not good sleep. I'm right, aren't I?" Damn him and his confidence. I don't remember this much from him. I'm used to being strong. I'm used to being the one who disappears in the morning.  
  
"It's not why I lose sleep." I lose sleep because I'm alone, and the bed is empty and cold and uninviting and I think too much. But it's not because you -bother- me, Gonou. Hakkai. Whoever you are.  
  
"Not worth losing sleep over." He stretches his legs and wraps one over mine, nuzzling closer. My knee is pulled between his legs until they are tangled and getting away would be difficult. Damn him. I feel so warm here. So warm.  
  
He yawns. "Gojyo?"  
  
"Mm?" So soft so warm so sleepy shut up and let me sleep. Mm.  
  
He brings his face up and presses his lips to my neck. The movement startles the hell out of me, but I was half expecting it. The teasing little prick. He smiles. "Let's sleep in tomorrow."  
  
Sleep in tomorrow. Slack off, relax, sleep in. He put his mouth on me. Willingly. Spend tomorrow with him. Wake up tomorrow with him. Go to bed tomorrow. With him. Okay. I'd like that. 


End file.
